


the mysterious case of the swaying hallway

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets, part ii. [30]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, Intoxication, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 05:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14585529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: In which Ryan gets very drunk at a work function, tries to determine exactly what is causing his hallway to sway alarmingly (spoiler alert, it's not ghosts), and makes out with Shane for the first time, in that order.





	the mysterious case of the swaying hallway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarkAliceLilith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAliceLilith/gifts).



> this was written for the prompt "Shane/Ryan - forehead kiss" and for the prompt "roommates" for this week's prompt roulette challege at the bfu writer's discord!
> 
> warnings for heavy drinking (although it's nothing too over the top) and mild emetophobia (it's a pretty vague scene, but still, please be cautious).

As soon as Ryan stumbles out of the elevator, Shane half a step behind him, he realizes that there’s something _odd_ about the corridor leading to their apartment.

Even though they’re definitely on dry land, the hallway has a distinct sway to it, like it’s suddenly been transported onto a cruise ship rocking on the waves of the ocean. The carpet is undulating gently, and Ryan pauses so that he can prod it with his toe, see if that will make it stay still.

“Shane,” he says, pausing again and frowning, because Shane’s name feels somehow different in his mouth, like it has six syllables more than usual or like it’s wholly new to him. He forces himself to ignore it for the time being so that he can continue. “Do you see what the carpet is doing?”

“S’not doing anything,” Shane answers, bumping into Ryan’s side, which just makes the hallway sway faster. “C’mon, I wanna go home.”

“But the _carpet_ ,” Ryan protests even as he follows after Shane. He can’t seem to get a sure footing on the ground, so he throws one arm around Shane’s waist for balance and leans into his side.

Shane’s reply is a little garbled, but Ryan _thinks_ that he hears, “You can investigate tomorrow,” which is a fair enough point. He doesn’t have anything to do tomorrow; there’s no raucous work parties to attend, no work at all. It’s just going to be another beautiful Sunday, spent with his best friend and roommate.

He’s sure that he can pencil in ten minutes for investigating the carpet. Maybe after lunch.

By the time they make it to their door, Ryan’s head has come to rest against Shane’s arm, and he’s reluctant to move away; the fabric of Shane’s sweater is soft against his cheek, and the extra point of contact seems to make it easier to keep his balance on the swaying floor. Thankfully, Shane uses his other arm to unlock the door, and Ryan keeps a hold on him until they’re inside and he has to kick his shoes off into the hall closet.

“Did you see Steven?” Ryan yells at Shane’s back as he wanders off into the kitchen. It takes him a few attempts to get the question out, mainly because he keeps getting distracted by undoing the numerous buttons on his coat.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t remember wearing a coat when they arrived at the party. Even more strangely, he doesn’t think he’s ever owned a silver coat in his entire life. 

Shane yells back an acknowledgment before he comes back into the hallway, holding a glass of water, his own shoes apparently discarded somewhere on his journey to the kitchen and back.

“He’s gonna be so fucked tomorrow,” Shane says, taking a great, slurping gulp before he turns down their other hallway, the one that leads to their bathroom and respective bedrooms. There’s a suspicious thud a few seconds later, followed by a wheezing laugh.

“Oh, definitely.” Ryan finally manages to shuck out of the strange jacket, throws it into the closet, and stumbles down the hallway to the bathroom. Before he closes the door, he yells, “But that’s Adam and Andrew’s problem.”

“ _You’re_ a problem,” Shane retorts, like he’s a goddamn five year old, and Ryan rolls his eyes as he shuts the door.

Getting his contacts out and brushing his teeth takes an absurdly long time, primarily because whatever was making the hallway sway is also affecting the bathroom. Once his contacts are out, Ryan does everything else with his eyes closed, which seems to help a little, but he can’t help but frown down at the shifting tiles before he heads back into the hallway.

There’s _definitely_ something weird going on.

Maybe the apartment block is built on a ley line. 

His bedroom is right next to the bathroom, and strangely enough, not only is the door open, but the light is on. When he steps inside, he discovers that Shane is sprawled out face first on his mattress with his face shoved into Ryan’s favorite pillow. One of his socked feet is hanging just over the edge, and for a moment, Ryan plays with the idea of either tickling it or grabbing it and dragging Shane off the bed.

But after a few moments of careful contemplation, he realizes that’s either going to result in him getting kicked somewhere very uncomfortable or possibly throwing his damn back out, so instead, he settles for dropping down in the tiny bit of available space between the wall and Shane’s side.

“Get out of my bed, asshole,” he grumbles, poking Shane in the ribs. He doesn’t have to move very far to do it; even with his back pressed against the wall, Shane is still so close that he can feel the heat pouring off him. “You’ve got your own.”

“Yeah, but yours is better.” Shane slowly lifts his head out of the pillow and flashes him a lopsided grin. His glasses are crooked, and Ryan clumsily paws them off Shane’s face and leans over so that he can drop them on the nightstand; the last thing he needs is Shane somehow managing to smash the lens when he inevitably drops his face back into the pillow.

“Why’s mine better?” he asks, flopping back against the mattress. Objectively, it’s not even true; Shane’s bed is way more comfortable, has a memory foam topper that’s like sinking into a marshmallow, and it’s _massive_.

He doesn’t have quite enough pillows, but still. No one’s perfect.

“’Cause you’re in it. Obviously,” Shane answers with a slight frown, like he’s vaguely disappointed in Ryan for not already knowing the answer.

Warmth leeches up Ryan’s neck, into his cheeks, and down into his very brain itself. 

“Oh,” he says. His head is so warm that he feels dizzy, but the window is on the other side of the room, and he doesn’t think he could stand back up even if he tried. Shane is staring at him with a dazed grin, eyes wide, looking so damn handsome that Ryan kind of wants to bury his face under a pillow, because looking at him for too long is just bound to make his brain hurt even more. But there’s a logic test he wants to apply to Shane’s statement, so instead of burrowing under a pillow, he asks, “So if I was in _your_ bed, would your bed be better?”

Shane nods rapidly, stubbly cheek rasping against Ryan’s pillowcase.

“Now you’ve got it.” After a moment, with what seems a titanic amount of effort, he rolls onto his side, so that he’s fully facing Ryan, and slides over an inch or so, minimizing the already minimal space between them. Ryan abruptly realizes that his own back is no longer flush with the wall, that at some point, he shifted closer, so that their legs are mere inches away from touching.

Perhaps he should be concerned about that, but he’s fairly sure he’s had a dream like this.

Or two dreams. Six. A dozen. Whatever. It’s not like anyone is counting. 

Shane’s brows scrunch together in concentration, but before Ryan can ask what he’s thinking about, Shane leans forward and very carefully presses his lips to Ryan’s forehead, square in the middle.

The heat filling Ryan’s brain ticks up by at _least_ ten degrees.

Even after Shane leans away, Ryan can still feel the imprint of his lips on his skin, like he left a smear of lipstick behind.

“Uh,” Ryan says as his eyes drop down to Shane’s mouth, which is parted just enough to show a sliver of teeth.

“Yep,” Shane agrees, although what he’s agreeing _to_ , Ryan doesn’t really know. He laughs a little, spindly fingers twisting into the sheets only an inch away from Ryan’s stomach. For a moment, Ryan finds himself transfixed by their movements, but then Shane makes another quiet sound, like a wistful sigh, and Ryan’s eyes shoot back up to where Shane is staring at him, cheeks flushed red, dark eyes wide.

Ryan blinks.

Shane blinks.

They both move.

They crash together.

For a few minutes, about all Ryan can say with any certainty is that they’re making out; their limbs are so thoroughly entangled together that it’s hard to say where one of them ends and the other begins. They’ve simply blurred together, like watercolors.

Eventually, when he has to pull away to suck some air into his neglected lungs, he’s able to get his bearings. He’s in the middle of the mattress, and Shane is resting heavily between his splayed apart legs, pressed down against him in half a dozen spots. Both of Ryan’s hands are underneath Shane’s sweater, fingers spread wide across his back, and Shane is blinking down at him, pupils blown, mouth curving into a grin that Ryan can’t help but mirror.

He’s _definitely_ had dreams that started like this. 

“Hey, Ryan?” Shane asks, sliding his huge hands under Ryan’s shirt to rest on his stomach.

“Yeah, buddy?” Ryan gasps, pressing up into the warmth and breadth of Shane’s palms.

Shane’s grin grows a little more before he abruptly freezes, goes as stiff as a plank underneath Ryan’s fingers.

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

Before Ryan can say a thing, Shane jumps off the bed in a flurry of limbs and lopes out the door. A few seconds later, on the other side of the wall, Ryan hears a loud thud that sounds suspiciously like someone crashing into a door frame, followed by a quieter thud that might be someone dropping to their knees on the ground.

Ryan’s pretty sure that the nicest thing to do would be to get up and see if Shane’s alright, but frankly, it kind of feels like he’s melted into the mattress, so he settles for banging on the wall instead.

“Do you need some help?” he yells. The volume of his own voice is so unexpectedly loud that he winces.

“No!” Shane calls back. That’s followed by some sounds that Ryan doesn’t want to think about, let alone listen to, so he drags a pillow over his face, tries his best to block them out and turns his attention back to the problem of the swaying hallway.

By the time Shane stumbles back into the room and turns the light off, Ryan has discounted eight different theories and is on the brink of falling asleep. Shane drops ungracefully down onto the mattress, half on top of Ryan, and when he rolls onto his side, a series of cold water droplets spray into Ryan’s arm.

“Your hair is _soaked_ ,” Ryan grumbles, pulling the pillow off his face. When he inhales, he smells citrus and mint, shower gel ( _his_ shower gel, more specifically) and toothpaste. “And you smell good.”

“I _hate_ Eugene,” Shane groans, throwing an arm over Ryan’s waist and dropping his head to Ryan’s chest. Immediately, his hair soaks Ryan’s shirt. “This is all his fault.” Ryan nods in agreement and wraps one arm around Shane’s shoulders, which are also damp. He’s pretty sure that as soon as he stops actively trying to stay awake, he’s going to pass out, but there’s one more thing he needs to say, before he forget.

“You know we gotta talk about _this_ in the morning, right?” he asks. Shane nods and twists to press a kiss to Ryan’s chest, right above his heart, a kiss so unexpected that it feels like Ryan’s been gut-punched.

“Yeah. Morning. We’ll talk about all this. But I’m gonna die if I don’t sleep.”

“Alright.” Ryan turns to press a kiss into Shane’s dripping wet hair and closes his eyes. “Don’t throw up on me.”

“I won’t. Shut up. Gotta sleep.”

“Shutting up now. Goodnight, buddy.”

If Shane answers, Ryan is asleep before he hears it.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
